Cells
by Volodya
Summary: After the Doctor sets off on his own during an attack leaving everyone else in danger, the Brigadier decides to take disciplinary measures against his scientific advisor. WARNING: If the idea of corporal punishment freaks you out – don't read.


_Author's notes:_

_This story is set in the early days of the Third Doctor era. It describes the aftermath of some unspecified mission to fight of some unspecified enemy._

_It was inspired by two rather kinky stories posted by Aris Merquoni on whofic ("Affections" and "School Holiday"). These wonderful stories give a glimpse of a sort of BDSM-thing going on between the Brig and the Fifth Doctor, with the possible implication that it all started during the Doctor's third incarnation. I started to wonder how on earth the Brig might have come to lay hands on the Doctor in the first place. This is what I came up with._

_I'm still not completely sure if this story works. Possibly they are both way out of character – the Brig too irritable, the Doctor too meek and compliant._

_Disclaimer: Don't own them (Though I have no doubt that the Brig would have been mine, mine if Doris hadn't shown up :-P) just borrowed them and returned them safe and sound to the BBC._

_It's all fiction. No Timelords were hurt or harmed in any way in the making of this story._

**Cells_  
_**

The sound of a key being turned in a lock roused the Doctor from his slumber. A moment of disorientation followed. Where was he?

He quickly took in the details of his surroundings. A hard bed with a scratchy blanket, a barred window apparently opening to ground level outside, bare whitewashed walls, a solid steel door — without any doubt he was in a cell. And not just any old cell he remembered, as the events of a few hours ago came rushing back to him, but a cell in the basement of UNIT headquarters. Until then he hadn't even known that HQ had such facilities. Well, now he knew, and the only thing to be said in favour of the situation was that being locked up by his friends rather than his foes made for a change.

These thoughts took no longer than his unknown visitor needed to unlock the door. The Doctor half sat up on his bunk and eyed the opening door curiously. None other than Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart strode into the room.

The Doctor politely rose from his semi-recumbent position and made one step towards UNIT's CO. "Ah, Lethbridge-Stewart, I'm so glad to see you. You have, no doubt, come to rectify this little misunderstanding. I had barely got out of the TARDIS near the outer perimeter when I was seized by two men of UNIT's rank and file and locked up here." He looked around himself meaningfully. "Don't be too hard on them. They probably just were mistaken about my identity and held me for an intruder," he added with a warm smile.

"There was neither mistake nor misunderstanding," the Brigadier replied coldly, "Those men were strictly following my orders. Quite a contrast to your recent actions, I should say, but, yes, some of my men actually follow my orders."

There was a sharpness to the Brigadier's voice that made the Doctor stop in his tracks. "I don't understand…," he muttered, thoughtfully rubbing his neck.

"Don't you worry, I shall make myself clear enough," Lethbridge-Stewart retorted and finally the Doctor detected the barely contained anger in the other man's voice. "Your attitude towards me, your CO, has been appalling from day one," the Brigadier went on, "I fully understand that you are not a soldier, but when you agreed to become UNIT's scientific advisor, you agreed to serve under my command which includes obeying my orders. I've seen precious little of that in those last few months you've been with UNIT, but I was prepared to give you plenty of leeway taking into account your unique abilities and your difficult situation as an exile. However, that last stunt you pulled was one too many even for my patience — going against direct orders, leaving Sergeant Benton alone in the line of fire, endangering the life of Miss Shaw and the success of the whole mission, just to follow some whim about that crazy machine of y…"

"It wasn't a mere whim!" the Doctor interrupted hotly, "In fact it was…"

"Quiet! I'm not finished yet!" The Brigadier's furious bark startled his scientific advisor into silence. "You just went off on your own while assigned to a mission for UNIT. For no other reason than some random idea how to get your confounded TARDIS back on the line. We were under attack — and you just strolled away!"

The Doctor actually looked a bit ashamed. "Well, if you put it like that…"

Finished with his outburst, the Brigadier became his usual calm self again. "You have failed your responsibilities; therefore, I'm determined to take disciplinary measures against you," he stated flatly, his face absolutely blank.

"Disciplinary measures?" The Doctor's eyes widened in disbelieve. "What do you propose to do to me? Keep me locked up? Fine by me, I could do with a few days of quiet meditation. Dock my pay? Dock away to your heart's content — I don't care. Not much opportunity to spend it on this miserable little planet anyway."

"Actually I had in mind something a bit more physical."

"Physical? Slap my wrist and send me to bed without supper? Oh, come on, Brigadier, you're hilarious!" The Doctor snorted sarcastically.

"I'm going to cane you," the Brigadier declared in a level tone.

Only now the Doctor realized that Lethbridge-Stewart didn't carry his usual standard issue swagger stick but a length of thin, bendy rattan.

To the Brigadier's satisfaction and silent amusement the Doctor looked alarmed at the turn of events, but quickly hid his alarm behind his usual nonchalant manner. "I'm fairly sure, my dear Lethbridge-Stewart, this isn't standard military procedure. If I'm not very much mistaken in my knowledge of Earth history, the British army abolished corporal punishment back in the 1850s."

The Brigadier allowed himself a wry grin. "You're quite right, Doctor, but as you so kindly pointed out, nothing I could do to you in the way of standard disciplinary actions would cause you any notable discomfort, thus making the whole effort pointless. Besides, officially sentencing you to disciplinary arrest and/or temporary pay cuts would require a formal trial which might draw unwanted attention to the fact that UNIT has a scientific advisor on its payroll who has no identification documents whatsoever, no name, two hearts, a ridiculously low body temperature and a taste in clothing that screams "time travelling alien" to anyone who cares to pay attention. To avoid all this possible trouble I chose this fairly unusual method. The whole incident will also be put down as an official reprimand in your personal file. Whatever good that may do…," the Brigadier's voice trailed off.

The Doctor cocked a sarcastic eyebrow. "You can imagine how much I care about my file."

"Yes, but I'm fairly sure, even you care about your hide," the Brigadier growled.

This wasn't a joke; Lethbridge-Stewart meant to go through with this the Doctor realized. His innermost self rebelled against the indignity of letting himself be physically chastised by anyone, let alone this pompous military git! He didn't give a damn about the pain and frankly doubted that the usually mild mannered Lethbridge-Stewart would inflict anything too horrible on him, but he was several hundred years older than his would-be taskmaster after all, and the idea of obediently bending over to take his licks made his blood boil.

With a glare at Lethbridge-Stewart, he said hotly, "As this is unofficial you can't make me play along with this ridiculous scheme of yours! Besides, even if I agreed, you should take into account that my Gallifreyan metabolism provides me with a pain endurance which by far surpasses that of any human. I sincerely doubt you would be able to cause me any serious physical discomfort."

"This isn't about pain; this is about obedience," the Brigadier stated calmly, "If you want to stay with UNIT, you will learn to obey my orders — starting now with accepting your punishment in good grace."

The Doctor's voice faltered. "If I want to stay with UNIT?" He hadn't expected this kind of threat.

"Yes," the Brigadier replied, "as much as I value your abilities, I cannot afford to have a man under my command on whom I can't rely in battle." He gave the Doctor a stern glance. "Your choice is simple — either you accept my judgement and take your punishment like a man, or you pack up your precious TARDIS and leave UNIT's premises before nightfall."

No matter how much he resented the idea of being beaten like a naughty schoolboy, the Doctor made up his mind in the blink of an eye. UNIT was the closest thing to a home he had right now. Plus he liked working for UNIT. He liked to pitch his intellect against that of Liz Shaw. He liked the easy going company of Benton and Mike Yates. And finally, yes, for all his military blockheadedness, he liked and respected the Brigadier. Although he would rather be flayed alive than admit that last point aloud.

The Doctor sighed and straightened up to something that looked almost but not quite like standing to attention. "Very well, Brigadier, go ahead. I shall take anything you deem necessary to mete out."

The Brigadier concentrated hard on not showing his relief. He would never have had the heart to go through with his threat to throw the Doctor out. After all the man was an exile who had nowhere else to go, so the Brigadier considered it part of his responsibilities to ensure the Doctors safety and well-being. He was a more than useful member of UNIT. And, yes, all his alien whims and infuriating know-it-all-stance notwithstanding, Alistair had come to like and respect the Timelord over those months of close cooperation. Although no peine forte et dure would ever force a confession of this last point out of the Brigadier.

He said, "Alright. Let's get this over with. Take off your jacket and bend over the bunk, please."

Now it was the Doctors turn to feel a surge of relief. He had half feared the Brigadier might carry out the punishment somewhere else than in the privacy of this cell, possibly with Sergeant Benton and — Good Heavens! — Liz Shaw as witnesses, let alone make him take down his trousers and — perish the thought! — boxers in front of them. He took off his black velvet smoking jacket, folded it neatly and put it down near the headboard of the bunk. With a last rueful smile at Lethbridge-Stewart he turned round, planted his feet firmly at about shoulder-width to give himself a sure footing, bend over the bunk and rested his head on his forearms.

He heard Lethbridge-Stewart step up behind him a bit to his left and felt a soft tap of the cane against his backside. Involuntarily the Doctor grit his teeth, even though he still didn't believe he would feel much pain from the Brigadier's lashes. All his toughness and bravery notwithstanding, Lethbridge-Stewart was nothing more than a mere human who was about to wield a flimsy bit of exotic reed. How bad could that be?

The Brigadier cleared his throat. "Very well, Doctor, in the light of your atrocious behaviour towards your CO and the fact that any regular member of UNIT would face a court-martial for a similar act of insubordination, I intend to give you the full dozen. And I shall make sure you will feel them — superior Gallifreyan pain endurance or not. You will stay in position until told otherwise and count out the strokes promptly and clearly. Failure to abide by theses rules will result in additional strokes. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" the Doctor replied meekly and thought to himself, "Where the heck did that come from?"

Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart noted the reaction with grim satisfaction, tapped his velvet clad target once more to check his aim, put his right foot behind his left, raised the cane above shoulder-height, wound up his whole body for maximum strength, tarried half a heartbeat in this position and then let the first stroke fly.

The cane cut through the air with its characteristic blood-curdling swoosh and hit its target with a resounding crack, leaving a lighter stripe on the dark fabric where the smooth fuzz of the surface was ruffled by the impact. "For once all this dandy velvet has a practical use," the Brigadier thought. "This should make it easier to take aim and not to hit the same spot twice unintentionally."

As the stroke fell, the Doctor felt nothing but a forceful impact at first; only after a few seconds the pain began to seep into his awareness. Nothing too bad, he decided. He should be able to handle this, and nothing would be hurt but his pride. If that was the price of appeasing the irate Lethbridge-Stewart, he was getting off lightly.

Behind him the Brigadier harrumphed. Oh, he'd almost forgotten to count. "One, sir!" he sang out cheerfully.

The second cut fell very close to the first one, and the Doctor registered a distinct build up of pain. But still nothing to worry about, he reassured himself.

The Brigadier continued to lay on the strokes evenly, each about a third of an inch lower than the last one and each delivered with equal — maximum — force. He paused a good half minute after each cut to give the pain ample time to develop — and to relax the muscles in his right arm. Heavens! Had this been quite so exhausting during his time as a prefect at ISC a good 30 years ago?

By the time he heard the cane swooshing in for the fifth time, the Doctor realized he was in serious trouble. This was far more painful than he had expected — and he wasn't even halfway through. When the thin stick cut into him driven by the full force of thirteen stone of angry primate, the Doctor had to bite back a yelp of pain. He rather unconvincingly hid it under a fake cough.

"Ah, finally getting to you, am I?" the Brigadier remarked with a hint of evil glee.

"On the contrary, my dear Lethbridge-Stewart, I'm perfectly alright. Superior Gallifreyan metabolism, as I said. You're only wearing yourself out," the Doctor replied as light-heartedly as he could manage through clenched teeth.

Keeping up his unmoved appearance grew increasingly difficult for the Doctor as stroke after stroke bit into his rear. It took all of his considerable self-control not to flinch, cry out or, worst of all, beg for mercy. But if he already had to subject to this savagery, he would at least get out of it with as little damage to his pride as possible — and that meant never to let Lethbridge-Stewart know that he really and truly had "gotten to him".

Finally the last stroke landed. "Twelve, sir!" the Doctor said willing himself to speak in a casual tone but unable to keep his voice from being a bit husky.

The Brigadier took his time, looking at the Doctor — long legs perfectly straight, feet planted firmly on the concrete floor, whole body completely still, not a muscle twitching. The Timelord had taken the caning admirably well, Lethbridge-Stewart had to admit, but he was almost sure that all that talk about superior pain endurance was a mere ruse to wriggle out of the predicament. To him it looked as if he really had made his displeasure felt. That stillness was just a little too still, speaking of a man who tried his hardest not to show any pain, rather than one who didn't feel any. The carefully groomed grey curls were tinged with sweat, that much was certain, and a thin sheen of perspiration glistened on the man's neck and wrists. He couldn't see the Doctor's face as it lay buried into the blanket between his hands, but Lethbridge-Stewart was convinced he would see at least some mimic reaction to the caning if he gave the order to rise right now.

Perhaps he shouldn't have thrashed his recalcitrant scientific advisor quite so hard? The Brigadier felt a small pang of conscience. But then the Doctor practically had egged him on… "Superior metabolism indeed. Blast him!" Alistair silently cursed in his mind. He wasn't sure how to go on, so he continued to look out for a sign from the Doctor, some indication that he was ready to get up and face his CO. He felt that this punishment had been necessary to assert his authority over the man, but the Brigadier had no wish to humiliate the Doctor any further. So, if the stubborn alien did not want to admit to his pain – let him have his way.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably no more than three minutes, Alistair saw the taut body in front of him lose a bit of its tension. Hopeful that the Doctor had ridden out the pain, the Brigadier finally said, "You may get up now."

Gracefully the Doctor got to his feet. The lithe movement didn't betray any discomfort. He picked up his jacket, dressed himself, straightened his cravat and only then turned to face the Brigadier — with a broad smile and eyes as clear as spring water.

"You took your time with that command, Brigadier. I almost thought you'd fallen asleep," he said with mock reproach.

"I just fully enjoyed the prospect of giving you an order that would be carried out without complaint or discussion. A rare occasion to be relished as long as possible," the Brigadier played along, glad to see the incident hadn't damaged his rapport with the Doctor.

"Well, Doctor, as far as I'm concerned this business is concluded, and I shall speak no more of it." After a meaningful pause he added, "To no one."

The Doctor curtly nodded his thanks.

His face carefully blank, the Brigadier asked, "Do you feel fit to return to your duties? Or do you wish to report to sick-bay?"

"As if I would go and discuss the state of my rear and how I came by these injuries with one of UNIT's medics," the Doctor thought. But he answered, "I'll return to my laboratory straight away. As I expected, this ridiculous punishment could hurt nothing but my pride."

The Brigadier replied gravely, "As I already stated — this was about obedience not pain." And with that he opened the door and beckoned the Doctor out of the cell.

**DW-DW-DW-DW-DW-DW-DW-DW-DW-DW-DW**

In all his hundreds of years the Doctor had never been so glad to close a door behind him as when he reached his laboratory a few minutes later. Finally he could give up his act. He carefully locked the door and only then gave in to a small whimper of pain that had been rising in his throat for quite some time now.

Very slowly he limped across the room towards the TARDIS which had been returned to its usual place. Right now all he wanted was a place where he could – very carefully – lie down and have a rest. He hadn't made it halfway there when he heard a voice behind him, "Ah, Doctor, you're back! I was starting to wo… Heavens! Are you alright?"

He spun round and found himself face to face with Liz Shaw who had just come out of the store-room.

She looked concerned. "I heard the Brigadier had had you locked up in the cells and was planning to have you court-martialled…?"

"Nothing but a warning shot. As you can see, I'm back in the wild and open again," he smiled reassuringly. Rubbing his chin with the back of his thumb, he added, "The Brigadier gave me a piece of his mind, though. Can't blame him for that; I made some rather bad decisions today…" He trailed off avoiding her eyes.

"Look, Liz, I'm really sorry for putting you and Benton in danger the way I did. I guess the hope of getting the TARDIS to work properly again was too great a temptation…" He peered at her from under his brows questioningly.

Liz gave him a warm smile. "Well, I was angry with you but… when I saw you like this… You positively look as if you were in physical pain! Whatever the Brigadier said to you, it must have been the tongue-lashing off of the century."

The Doctor sighed inwardly. Thank heavens for human unimaginativeness; otherwise she just might have come to the right conclusions in that brilliant brain of hers. With a rueful smile he said, "Our CO certainly made his point very clear…" He shrugged. "Let's just say that I feel awfully tired and quite a bit repentant."

Liz patted him on the shoulder. "In that case I shall go and leave you to your repentance." And with that she left the room.

**DW-DW-DW-DW-DW-DW-DW-DW-DW-DW-DW**

Much later that day the Doctor joined Benton and Yates for a quick beer before last orders. A bit of uneasiness ensued when the Doctor apologized to the Sergeant for leaving him without backup. The good-natured Benton brushed the whole incident aside with a muttered "No harm done." And that was, as they say, that.

When they entered the pub, it was still pretty crowded, mostly with soldiers from UNIT. "What now?" asked Captain Yates with a crooked smile. "Shall I pull rank and bully some of the men into giving up their table to us? Or shall we have our beer standing at the bar?"

Before Sergeant Benton could give his opinion, the Doctor said quickly, "Standing at the bar is fine by me."


End file.
